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Monthly Archives: March 2006

I think that the whole medblog world is rattled by Geeknurse being shut down. He was always so careful with his photos, always got permission, damn informative, and really a lovely writer with a tender heart. It’s made me wonder what I’m doing with a blog, other than staying in touch with my darling brother (who could leave a FREAKING COMMENT once in a while, as you’re the only regular reader I’m aware of.) I scare the knitters with the nurse stuff, I bore the nurses with the knitting stuff, I only post once a week or so, and I’m basically a navel gazer: all questions, no answers.

Like much of my life, I’m neither fish nor fowl. A woman, but not feminine. A writer who has stopped writing, an irritable mother who nontheless thinks that having children is the best thing I’ve ever done. I’m a nurse whose content to be not a superstar on the unit, happily taking the less technical patients and dispensing baths and bedchanges life it’s part of my personal religion.

I knit, but not the freaking hard stuff, I spin, but only sometimes. I’ve never had a religious experience from a craft activity. I’m only as likely to like a knitter as anyone else. I don’t feel instantly understood by anyone, wether or not we like the same activities, and I have missed the boat on the whole craft as spirituality thing. I’m a fish who likes a nice small pond. Not that I’m the biggest fish in it, by any means, but because I know every nook and cranny of my world and there are very few surprises. Even the deaths of my child patients does not surprise me, although it cuts me.

…life has been a bit grim, here. People I take care of have been dying in an unusual proportion. One of the dogs had an expensive injury. The current quilt sucks, I can’t seem to knit, and the house is beginning to rebel at the lack of a vaccuum cleaner. I bought the last one at Costco, and liked everything about it except that when you accidentally push it downstairs, some important part of the motor rattles around and it dosen’t seem to turn on, anymore. Anyhoo, Costco doesn’t seem to carry them at the moment and I am way to exhausted to go out into the world looking for a vaccuum cleaner. I actually tried to go to Target, but then I got all sleepy instead. I have been buying books, however, and actually reading them, so I may be revisiting reading as a passage. And, I saw my first movie in 9 years: Curious George.

Today was remarkably cold for us- snow was spotted in the skies. It wasn’t proper, gutsy snow like what we had in Michigan, it was snow with no follow thru. The result of this arctic blast was that I abandoned my No Coats at Work policy* and went back into the house to get a jacket. I got to enjoy a favored pastime, much neglected since I moved to these balmy shores: pocket archaeology. Much can be told about a people by what she has left in her pockets. IKEA shopping list. Was I nuts?? Where was I going to have this bookcase? And then I went to the bookstore- Oh yes, that was a good book- where is it now? Move along. Petrified breath mint, no recollection. Must have been a restaurant meal- hope I wasn’t someone’s alibi. I always was impressed when I watched lawyer shows and they would ask ” Where were you on the night of April 15, 1989?” And the witness, like, had an answer. My answer would have to be more along the lines of “I have no idea.” I have no idea, actually, about any dates in my life, in particular. Probably the clear sign of impending neurological catastrophe.

* No Coats at Work is in response to several factors. Most importantly, my job takes me into the Germ Factory- land of unkillable Microbes. I won’t even wear my work shoes into the house. They stay on the porch. Of secondary importance is that my hard won shared locker is a tiny cube shared with a night shifter. This means that her coat is already taking up all the oxygen in my locker, until she drags her weary ass home. Ridiculously, this tiny cube of a locker is equipped with a hook- a coat hook, in fact, although it is far to small to suspend anything larger that a sweat sock. This hook is precisely poised in the center of the cube, in a perfect location to snag sweaters, tear linings, and rip pockets as I jam my coat in and then try to extract it at the end of my wonderful eight hours and forty five minutes. The locker jam/extraction cycle also causes perma wrinkles. There is the lingering pain of a stolen leather jacket at my last job, when I foolishly left it on the back of a chair. The most important reason, however, is the candy butt Californians who bundle themselves ( and their helpless children) in arctic garb whenever it falls below 60 F. I refuse to let my blood thin out to this degree.

Finally, th phrase most likely to be on my tombstone:Madness takes its toll; please have exact change…

Knitting Olypic failure. Too small, gauge too loose, cable too odd, sleeves too long to give to smaller friend. Should have ripped it out midway, when it all seemed bad. Plus, note to self, the neck is not 40% of the body on a plus sized person. Duh. At least it’s still yarn.

Well, at least a sort of quilter in a very beginner, this is just the top kind of way. Pattern from Quilts from The Quilters Gift, a nice easy how to book by the same artist that illustrated The Quilter’s Gift. TQG is a nice children’s book about it being better to give, blah, blah, and art for arts sake, blah.

Notice the left side pieced blocks are sort of bass akwards, and no, I was not emulating the AmishWork. What can I say. Another nurse had her last day today. Another nurse started to cry when I gave her report and she saw who she had left to work with. When will management wake up and smell the coffee? I know I’ve tried to make them a cup, extra black, no sugar, and they were not interested

SNOW! We had a lovely time. Son One and Son Two spent all their time sledding and drinking hot chocolate. I spent all my time talking, knitting, and drinking hot chocolate. I finished the Noro Kureyon EPS sweater, but it, uhm, has issues. Maybe it was the Olympic pressure.

Work. Well, I would rather lick the floor in the OR than be in charge, and I have been in charge for two days. Every single patient is on a vent. Every single patient is on drips. Every one of them would have their clock hand point at mortal peril if they were on Mrs Weasley’s excellent clock. I think I want to work at the supermarket.